Immortal Meric,I think.God of Order.
With a growl, I turn the hallway’s corner, stalking through the muted darkness on the prowl for anything else that can tell me about Sabine. I find more painted-over murals. One of Immortal Alyssantha, mid-coitus with a pair of naked milkmaids. Another of Immortal Samaur and Immortal Thracia, wearing primitive masks of the sun and moon.
Then—finally. Another mural featuring Solene. This time, she stands before an ancient city composed of a giant temple surrounded by obelisks. I can only imagine it’s Calisyrune—a fabled city that was supposedly razed to its foundation three thousand years ago, during the fae’s Beginning. No one knows if the mythical city ever actually existed. If it did, its location must have been long since overgrown by forests.
But here it is.
Solene is on her knees in the foreground, weeping into her hands, surrounded by birds drawn to her obvious pain. In the distance in front of her, Calisyrune pumps out smoke from countless clay chimneys, kilns, and blacksmith forges, darkening the sky, causing birds to fall to their death. The river is dammed, and dead fish wallow in the dry bed along with the bones of otters and beavers. A fleet of woodcutters axes the forest apart, decimating every living thing in their path.
My stomach sours.
There’s another mural next to it, almost a mirror image. Most of the lampblack has already worn away, though I smooth my hands over it anyway, hungry for every detail. Anything could be a clue.
In this second scene, Solene towers upright as an oak, arms outstretched, hair cast back in a wild gust of wind. A flock ofstarleons drops poison dust over the ancient city. Thorny vines as thick as barrels smash into the obelisks. Roots burst from the dirt pathways, causing rifts in the earth large enough to swallow a horse. Goldenclaws slam into the dam to break it down.
As the city turns to rubble, the look on Solene’s face is unforgiving.
I stumble back, dragging a shaking hand over my face. That look? I’ve seen thatexactlook before. The first time was when Sabine took possession of the tiger in Duren’s arena. I saw it again when she commanded Tòrr.
Like an obsessed man, I prowl every hall in the basement, ducking through every iron gate the mouse unlocks for me. Searching for more. More answers. More ancient memories—though I’m afraid of what they’ll mean.
“Hey—no one is permitted down here!”
The sharp bark of a castle sentry pulls me from my hunt. The lantern in his hand burns so bright it nearly blinds me until my day vision switches back on.
I shade my face, grimacing.
The forest mouse vanishes into the shadows with barely a whisper of little feet on rubble.
“Lord Basten.” The sentry’s posture shifts, his head bowing, though his eyes dart nervously to the pitch-black hallway. “Forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.”
I roll my shoulders back, trying to look kingly instead of like a desperate man.
“Leave me,” I command in a deep voice. “I’m looking for supplies for the Lunden Valley refugees. Any old tools or bedrolls that might have been left down here.”
The sentry hesitates, well-trained eye flicking to my broken and bleeding fingernails. He clears his throat. “Understood, however, I’m afraid even you are forbidden from wanderingthese hallways, by order of Immortal Vale himself. The foundation isn’t sound. Rubble could fall. It’s dangerous.”
I fight the urge to snort.Sure.
For a brief moment, I consider simply ignoring the sentry’s command. But a quick assessment shows that despite his humility, he’s a beast. He rivals my size, and the sword at his side gives him an advantage.
“Right,” I mutter, and drag my feet after him.
Only a temporary setback, I tell myself as I follow him through the maze of hallways. The forest mouse can always lead me back here once I can get some gods-damned privacy.
On the way out, we pass the first mural I came to, the one of the ten fae seated in their primitive woodland court, golden and glowing beneath pine boughs. But in the sentry’s orange lantern light, my eyes catch what I missed before.
When my night vision only let me see grayscale.
That cherry-red sneer on Solene’s face? Artain wears it too, as if they share some dark joke.
My gaze moves to the giant buck behind her. Now, it’s clear that he isn’t simply gazing at her beauty. A crushed human body lies under his hooves, bloodied and stabbed through by antlers that are stained red from blood. Another corpse lies beneath tall grass, nearly hidden, eyes pecked out by hawks.
I didn’t notice the bright red stain of blood before.
And it changes everything.
In the Beginning, Solene didn’t just govern creatures of air, earth, and water.
